put it in gear
by loganes
Summary: Logan buys a motorcycle.


**Disclaimer**: I don't own Big Time Rush.

**Author's Notes**: Inspired by the picture Logan tweeted of him on his motorcycle, because he's a fucking asshole. Also, this is technically RPS. Read it how you want. This was, like, _really_ rushed.

* * *

It's actually James that puts the idea of a motorcycle in his head, and then he can't stop thinking about getting one.

They've both got their ATVs (barely used, whoops), and Logan's always going to be a little obsessed with his Fisker Karmas (fuck off, he just really wanted two, he's young and rich and in a fucking boyband) but he's actually kind of surprised that he doesn't own a motorcycle, yet. Out of the four of them, it's Logan who'd appreciate the speed and the risk the most.

It's less than a month after James brings up wanting one that Logan buys one.

"James," Logan says casually. He's got his phone on speaker, holding it near his mouth.

"Logan," James answers. He sounds kind of distracted. Logan vaguely remembers James telling him he'd be at the gym for a while. Whatever. This is important.

"I bought something," Logan hedges, looking for some piqued interest.

"Fascinating." There's a grunt, then a clang. "Can it wait?"

"It's a bike."

Silence. "A…bike."

"Yep."

"Like…a bicycle?"

"Guess again." Logan's grinning to himself, can't help it. He's been outside in his driveway admiring it for, like, maybe an hour and a half. He's not even a little ashamed.

"Fuck. _Fuck yeah._ Can I—" James pauses; Logan hears muffled words directed at someone else, then: "I'll be over in fifteen?"

"You know where I live," Logan says happily, hanging up.

Logan's still in his driveway when James pulls up; James barely turns his car off before he's slamming the door shut, steps fast until he's got a hand on the leather of Logan's motorcycle.

"She's fucking perfect," James says, envy coloring his voice just slightly. It's not like James doesn't have the means to buy his own.

"I know," Logan shrugs casually, like he hasn't been eye-fucking a machine all morning. He stands from where he's been sitting, palms against his thighs, and smirks at James as he straddles the seat of the bike. "I drove her back from the dealership, but I haven't really given her a good _ride_ yet."

"Yeah?" James says, voice low, and he isn't looking at the bike anymore.

"Figured you might want to come along." He nods at the second helmet he'd picked up as he puts his on.

James gets his hand on it before he even finishes the sentence, and then he feels James press up behind him on the seat, firm legs tight as they slide up beside Logan's.

"Let's fucking go," James says in his ear, slips one arm around Logan's front and down.

"Fuck," Logan breathes as James palms at his dick, and he lets himself enjoy it for all of ten seconds before he's shoving James's hand away. "Later," he forces out, fingers twitching at the ignition.

He can almost feel James' eye-roll, but he knows they both want this first. Logan grins, and then they're off.

The adrenaline's fucking intoxicating, and Logan's maybe a little too eager with the throttle but it's him, and it's not like James is gonna complain about the speed, let alone tell him to slow down when all they've ever done is speed (in cars, on stage, with each other, because James knows best that all Logan really wants, needs, is to go faster).

Thing is, James can't keep his hands off him, and while Logan's sticking to backroads it's hard to concentrate, too hard, too fast—

Logan swerves to the side of the road, foot down on the ground before he can even come close to catching his breath, still feels like he's going 70 miles per hour, like he's run out of his own fucking body, and as soon as the bike is off he's shoving back, knocking James a little off balance.

"Dude—" James starts, helmet off, but Logan gets his gloved palm over James' mouth, and James doesn't fight it.

"Can't I just enjoy my bike for twenty minutes?" he grits out, not angry, exactly, just wound way too tight. He grinds his teeth together, nerves racing. He still wants to be _moving_, doesn't ever quite know how to stop.

"Didn't hear you complaining," James mutters against his hand, and Logan yanks it away, rolling his eyes.

"Fuck you," Logan says. He's so fucking hard, dick straining against his jeans, and he's always gotten a little turned on by adrenaline but nothing like the way he gets when it's James.

"That a promise?" James bites back, all sass, and then Logan's kissing the words out of his mouth, licking in and tasting as he grabs James's hand and presses it to the hard line of his cock.

James, smug little shit, just moans into the kiss, lets Logan control it as he drags his sweaty palm over him teasing and slow. Logan bucks up into it, unable to help himself, and James' tongue is too dirty in his mouth when Logan just wants it dirty on his dick.

"Suck me," he says against James's lips, low and maybe kind of desperate. He knows James can hear him; the road's quiet, deserted, just trees and a slope up.

He doesn't know if he'd have been more turned on if James had fought him on it, but as it is, James just sinks to his knees, want pretty fucking clear in his eyes as he undoes Logan's jeans and shoves them halfway down his thighs with his boxers.

They're blatantly in the open, and it's broad daylight, and Logan's never been this turned on in his life. He leans back against the end of his bike and James closes his mouth around the head, tonguing at it like the tease he is.

"Shit, James," Logan hisses, feels so fucking good but it's not nearly enough, and he really just wants to—

James pulls off and just looks at him for a minute, stroking him lazily, and Logan's, like, this close away from being actually pissed off, when James says, all nonchalant, "fuck my mouth," and, _Jesus Christ_.

They've been fooling around for a few months, but it's not necessarily something they're this open about. Sure, Logan's dick is hard for James all the time, and maybe it's just him that's really into James, period, but he's not about to say that out loud, even though he's pretty sure it's mutual. So they've had sex, and traded blowjobs, and really they've done everything, but not—not like this.

There's something in James's voice that rings familiar and new at once and Logan reaches down, cards his fingers through James's hair, can't pull his eyes away.

"Yeah?" Logan breathes out, hips stuttering under the brush of James's fingers.

James smirks up at him, then just opens his mouth, pretend-obedient but so, so hot.

Logan can take a hint. He groans and slides his dick past James's lips, not too rough to start, but his hand is still tangled in James's hair, and, fuck, his mouth is hot and wet and pliant around him and he thrusts forward despite himself.

James just takes it, throat working around Logan's cock, and the sight alone is almost too much.

His fingers tighten as he pushes in again, watching the stretch of James's lips around him. James drags his tongue along the underside of his length with each thrust; then he's bringing a hand up, thumb teasing over his balls, and Logan's hips stutter with the sensation.

James pulls back, then, lips just out of reach, and Logan can't even protest, only makes a sound in his throat as James takes him in his hand and strokes, languid and easy, tongue circling the head.

It feels so fucking good, still, and Logan's practically incoherent, and James's eyes stay on his as he swallows him down to the base. Logan's coming before he even realizes it, breathless groan wrenched from him. James swallows around him, taking everything, working him through it.

"Fuck, James. Fuck," he gasps when he can manage it, pulling James up weakly and kissing him hard, doesn't care that it's mostly himself that he's tasting. "What," Logan starts, after he's (mostly) finished with James's mouth, but James cuts him off.

"You looked like you needed it," he says, which, okay, not really an explanation, but Logan really hopes he "looks like he needs it" a lot of the time.

"Okay," he says instead, and he kind of gets it, actually.

James's voice is raw, his cheeks are flushed, and it's two in the afternoon on a Monday. Logan's so fucked for James, and—

"You too," James grins, cheeky fucking bastard, and clearly Logan can't keep his mouth shut. He's okay with that too.

"Want to drive back?" Logan says, lips against James's jaw.

James's hand closes around his before he takes the keys. "Fuck yes."


End file.
